Pinch Me
by Capt. Janeway
Summary: Just after the finale, Doggett gets lost--which is only the beginning of his problems. Has he lost his mind, or is there another explanation? CHAPTER 19 IS UP: Reyes and Gibson Praise aren't sleeping too well . . .
1. Premonition

"Pinch Me," by Capt. Janeway  
  
SUMMARY: Just after the series finale, Doggett and Reyes try to figure out how  
they will look after Gibson Praise. Before any progress can be made, however,  
Doggett gets lost . . . just trying to get home. He seems to have "crossed-over" to a  
place where perfect strangers insist they are his friends, and his friends don't  
recognize him. Has Doggett lost his mind, or is there another explanation?  
  
Meanwhile, Mulder and Scully once again throw themselves in a feverish pursuit of  
"the truth," though it may be in a much different place than anyone has ever  
suspected . . .  
  
RATING: PG (I probably could've gotten away with a G-rating, but there may be  
some mild violence later . . .)  
  
ARCHIVES: Please contact me at frenchkitty1@excite.com for permission. (Don't  
worry; as long as your site isn't the homepage of some satanic cult or something, I'll  
probably OK it.)  
  
SUMMARY: Okay, I had to change a lot of stuff here (stupid plot continuity  
problems!), and there was some confusion due to technical difficulties (I'm  
dangerous when it comes to the computer), but I think things should go a bit more  
smoothly now. :)   
  
Anyway, this whole project is indeed my second attempt at a semi-serious X-Files  
fic . . . Please be nice! Once again, I apologize to my loyal fans (I love you all!), but  
this is not–I repeat, this is NOT–a parody. (LOL . . . I guess we authors have to be  
careful about what we become famous for . . . ;)  
  
Please forgive me if I'm late on the updates; I'm homeschooled on a year-round  
schedule, which means I don't get summer breaks . . . *grumble, grumble* . . .  
  
Happy Reading!  
  
Capt. Janeway ;)  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
PROLOGUE  
System #1  
  
It always started the same way. Reyes had been having the same garbled dreams  
for the past week; sometimes certain images would change, grow dimmer or  
brighter, but the beginning was always the same.  
  
A song would start playing in the midst of the darkness. It seemed familiar, but she  
could never quite remember what it was called, nor could she recall the words. The  
song would simply tinker away, a nameless tune clinking its way out of a music box.   
Yes, there it was again: the music box. It was metal with a warm, brown-gold color  
(copper?); a rickety little copper box set in the middle of a copper plate. Something  
on the edge of the plate was circling the box, though Reyes couldn't see it clearly  
enough.   
  
Then rushed the images: people, places, objects. They were all jumbled together,  
making no sense at all. There were some people she knew--John, Gibson Praise, and some of  
Mulder and Dana--and some she didn't know--a man with a hardened  
look to him, a woman searching desperately for someone dear, and so the list of  
vague visages whisked on. The places ran from the Hoover Building to a desert to a  
forest and back to D.C.  
  
There was a sudden sense of being watched. Somewhere beyond the flood, a pair of  
eyes watched her. They were the eyes of a friend, yet from their glare, Reyes knew  
they considered her an enemy.  
  
"Monica," someone, who was far away in the real world, said. "Monica, wake-up.   
You're home."  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Interested yet? Please continue on to the next chapter . . . 


	2. Back to the Real World

CHAPTER 1  
System #1  
  
"Monica, wake-up."  
  
Reyes struggled awake, and found herself next to Doggett, back in the car. They  
were parked in front of her apartment.  
  
"You're not tired, are you?" he said dryly.  
  
"No," she groggily returned, "I just like to drool on car seats for fun."  
  
He didn't chuckle; something was on his mind. There was a thoughtful silence,  
until Reyes broke it:  
  
"What are you thinking about?"  
  
"Just . . . wondering," he said slowly. "You think we'll ever see them again?   
Mulder and Scully, I mean."  
  
"Dunno," she yawned. A shard of her dream stabbed her memory. "I have a  
feeling we might," she amended. "How about you?"  
  
"Dunno," he echoed thoughtfully. "Dunno." He roused himself back to matters at  
hand. "You should go up; sleeping in a car's not a good way to rest."  
  
She smiled. "Right."  
  
Reyes opened the door and stumbled out of the car. She shut the door, but just  
before she turned to leave, Doggett rolled the window down.  
  
He gave her a concerned look. "You want any help?"  
  
"No. It's okay."  
  
"I'll give you a call tomorrow, and we'll figure out what we'll with Gibson. He can  
spend the night with me."  
  
"Right," mumbled Reyes.  
  
"You sure you don't need any help?"  
  
"No, I'm fine. Really."  
  
The car pulled away from her apartment building, as Reyes plodded to the door,  
too drowsy to start worrying about what in the world she and Doggett would do  
with a kid the government seemed more than willing to kill to have control of.  
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Okay, the next chapter oughta catch your interest a little more . . . ;) 


	3. Role Reversal in a System Switch

CHAPTER 2  
System #2  
  
The man shifted uncomfortably in his wrinkled bed once more, fighting  
much-needed sleep. Usually, the Darkness was what he feared most. There were  
times he thought the Darkness of the room would smother him, and, in an attempt  
to disguise his fright, he would loudly demand that the Darkness stop playing Its  
tricks on him. Sometimes It listened to him, though most of the time, It ignored  
even his most heartfelt pleas for mercy, and continued to slowly, silently strangle  
him. On a particularly bad night, It would threaten him so much that he panicked,  
and then the doctors, not realizing that the danger he was in, would strap him down  
to his bed. Fools--that's what they were. It was pure luck that the Darkness hadn't  
already gotten him.   
  
But, tonight, the Darkness was not the reason why the man was still awake.   
  
Holding his breath, he listened to the ominous clack of high-heels on tile echoing  
through the corridors outside.  
  
Clack-clack, clack-clack, clack-clack . . . and silence.  
  
Cautious to avoid attracting the attention of the Darkness, he got out of his bed,  
nervously ran a hand through his brown hair, and put his ear to the door.  
  
He heard a few mumbled words and the scribble of pen on paper.  
  
Clack-clack, clack-clack, clack-clack . . .  
  
She was getting closer.  
  
As the ominous clacking grew louder, the man managed to haul himself back in his  
bed, and he pretended to sleep. He held his breath, waiting for that door to swing  
open . . .  
  
Clack-clack, clack-clack, clack-clack . . .   
  
Sure enough, there was a soft click-click as a guard unlocked the door. Then, there  
came a small squeak as the door swung open.  
  
Clack-clack, clack-clack, clack-clack . . .  
  
"Get up," she demanded.   
  
Wincing from the light that invaded his room through the open door, he responded  
only with a little grunt of acknowledgment.  
  
"Get up. Now."  
  
The man climbed out of his bed and shakily got to his feet. His eyes started  
adjusting to the flood of light; he could see her painfully white lab coat and icy blue  
eyes glaring at him more clearly now.  
  
She walked over to the clipboard hanging from a tack in the wall to look at his  
charts. She brushed a rogue strand of her short auburn hair behind her ear.  
  
"Dr. Sukani says you've been making a lot of noise lately, so I imagine you've been  
hallucinating again."  
  
The man remained silent.  
  
"Answer me."  
  
"No," he croaked.  
  
Her eyebrows shot up.  
  
"No?" she mocked. "Would you mind telling me about this famous 'Darkness' that  
tries to kill you, then?"  
  
"It isn't a hallucination," the man insisted. "Nobody seems to understand; the  
Darkness likes to smother people. I'm only one of many who--"  
  
"Uh-huh . . . Have you been experiencing any pain in your head, neck, or chest  
areas recently?" she interrupted.  
  
"No."  
  
"Any feeling of constriction in your windpipe?"  
  
"No . . . Not really."  
  
"Nausea?"  
  
"A little."  
  
"Interesting," she murmured to herself. She scribbled something on a notepad, and  
attached it to the clipboard. "Anything else, other than the usual?"  
  
"No."  
  
She hung the clipboard back on the tack. "If you experience any of the symptoms  
I've mentioned today, ask for me. I've been assigned to you again for the next  
month," she droned.  
  
She was starting to leave when the man addressed her.  
  
"What's your name?"  
  
"My name?" she asked, those cold eyes already dissecting his demeanor to  
determine his motive.  
  
"If I need to ask for you, I need to know your name." He was careful not to smile  
at his own craftiness; there was no way she could nab him over this seemingly  
innocent question.  
  
She regarded him carefully. "Yes, I suppose you're right. It's Scully."  
  
"Dr. Scully?" the man asked.  
  
"That's right."  
  
And with that, she left, closing the door with another squeak. The guard outside  
locked it, and Dr. Scully's subject, Fox Mulder, was once more left alone to fight the  
Darkness.  
  
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Gettin' scared yet? Or do you think I need to stick to parodies? Either way, please let me know  
what you think by . . . you guessed it! Reviewing! (I do a happy dance every time I  
get a review!) LOL . . . Thank you! :) 


	4. Trust Alex?

CHAPTER 3  
System #2  
  
"Earn her trust," they'd all insisted. "She's the key to finding the leak."  
  
Yeah, right. That was assuming the paranoia princess even possessed the ability to  
trust someone. Just being the dutiful partner wouldn't win him an instant place in  
her little heart.   
  
But, Alex Krycek was willing to concede, they made the decisions, not him--yet. His  
role in the organization was still pathetically small.  
  
For now, he was just the Dutiful Partner.  
  
Grinning at the joke only he understood, he gathered all the papers scattered across  
his desk, careful to not leave any out. ("Paper trails are the worst kind to leave  
behind," he remembered hearing somewhere.) He put them in a folder and  
dropped the folder into his briefcase just as someone walked in the X-Files office.  
  
*Well, speak of the devil.*  
  
"Hey, Sam," Krycek acknowledged as he nonchalantly snapped the briefcase  
closed.  
  
"Working late, Alex?" she smiled . . . deliberately?   
  
Krycek stiffened. *Does she know?* He made a conscious effort to avoid glancing at  
the briefcase. There was an uncomfortable pause.  
  
"Well," Sam tried to fill the pause with a light joke, "maybe you're just trying to  
get the rest of us fired."  
  
Krycek relaxed a little.   
  
In that instant, however, the genius in him invented a way to solve all his problems  
in one scene. Though sensing triumph already, he made himself stiffen again.  
  
"Well, what--what about you?" he tried a clumsy retort with an uncertain smile.   
"Trying to get everybody fired by working late, I mean. I mean, not that you'd  
purposely do something like that--to get people fired and everything--I'm just  
joking, and . . ." Krycek twisted his face so he seemed to wish he were anywhere  
but there. "I think I'll shut-up now."  
  
"Alex, what's up?" a concerned Sam asked.  
  
*More than you know . . .*  
  
"I've just--just had something on my mind lately." Krycek dropped his eyes to the  
floor.  
  
"Alex," she said sympathetically as she pulled-up a chair and sat in it, "you can tell  
me. It's all right."  
  
"No," he said abruptly. "No, I can't. I'll be fine. I just have to keep it out of our  
work. It'll pass . . . eventually."  
  
"If you think it might get in the way of our work, you ought to tell me. In fact,  
there's a series of cases that I've wanted to review with you for a while," she said as  
she held up some folders she'd carried in with her, "but if you don't feel up to it, I  
don't mind taking care of them myself."   
  
Realizing her attention was reverting back to work too much, Krycek stopped the  
game. "I--I'd like to . . . uh, do you think you . . . Are you doing anything Friday  
night?"  
  
Though he doubted he'd ever forget that look on her face, he truly regretted not  
having a camera with him.  
  
After a moment, she recovered, and put the files back in the filing cabinet to signal  
she was leaving. Finally she said flatly, without looking at him, "Agent Krycek, I will be  
extremely busy this Friday."  
  
*Well,* Krycek consoled himself, *at least she shouldn't be as suspicious of me,  
anymore . . .*  
  
Just as Sam reached the door of the office, she turned around, and quietly added,  
"Try again next week. I think I might have some free time then."  
  
Now it was his turned to be shocked--sincerely shocked. He recovered more quickly  
than she had, though. "I'll be sure to do that, Agent Mulder."  
  
Had she not left, Sam might have seen the sinister smile of victory on Krycek's face.   
  
**********************************************************************  
  
Well, I couldn't help myself; I just had to put a little humor in this chapter. Did  
you love it? Hate it? Confused about it? Review it! Thank you! :) 


	5. Trust Dana?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I would like to give a special thanx to everyone for being so incredibly patient. Due to schoolwork and a recent death in my family, I haven't been able to write anything, though I *should* be able to write more now. (I'm finally on a break from my schoolwork . . .)  
  
Happy reading, and long live X-Files! LOL . . .  
  
Capt. Janeway ;)  
  
*******************************************************  
  
CHAPTER 4 System #1  
  
Monica sighed as the little song in her dream whirred and clicked to life. It tinkered out its bright song for a few moments, until . . .  
  
No! The dream was different this time, much more specific . . . She found herself standing in a kitchen. John's kitchen, but not John's kitchen. John was sitting at the table, his head in his hands; Dana, wearing a painfully white lab coat, was angrily pacing the length of the kitchen, like a leopard impatient to strike its prey. Three men loomed in a darker corner of the kitchen, and Dana's eyes flicked to them every so often.  
  
A sense of danger flooded over Monica--danger for John. She touched his shoulder, but he didn't feel it.  
  
"John," Monica tried to say, but no sound came out. She pushed her voice as hard as she could, but couldn't squeeze any sound out. Though she was in the room, nobody seemed to be aware of her, somehow. Shivering, she sank down to her knees in a corner not far from him, and watched the prelude to the tragedy.  
  
"You've comprimised the project," Dana snarled. "Do you understand that?!"  
  
John stiffened.  
  
Dana stepped closer, so she was directly across the table from him. "You've put us all at risk. You, me, Will, Mattie, Luke--all of us."  
  
John slowly raised his head to glare at her. "No. That's your fault. They live in fear, thinking their mom's a mad scientist. That's all your doing, not mine."  
  
"Why did you do it?" she persisted, ignoring his answer.  
  
"I had no choice! What was I supposed to do?! Act like nothing was going on?! You were doing something you had no right to do--none! You and," his head made a sharp jerk back to the three men, "you and your so-called 'colleagues' tortured those people, robbed them, and hung 'em out to dry!"  
  
"You're exaggerating the situation."  
  
"No way! You treated those people like animals!"  
  
Dana realized she was losing her grip on him. She'd have to get it back with a softer tactic. With the phoniest expression of kindness Monica had ever seen, Dana reached across the table and gently laid her hand on his.  
  
*Get away!* Monica urged him. *Get away, while you can . . .*  
  
"If you'll give me a chance, I think I could set things right again," Dana offered. "We can leave the country," she said in a lowered voice. "They'd never know. Just trust me, like before."  
  
John searched her eyes for a moment--Monica nearly thought he'd fallen for it. Suddenly, in one swift motion, he slid his hand out from under Dana's hand and violently grabbed her wrist.  
  
"Trust you? *Trust* you?" he said with quiet anger.  
  
"John . . ." Dana said uneasily.  
  
"You lied to me. Why should I trust you?" He strode around the table to Dana, not loosening his grip on her wrist. "The way you *fix* things, you'll lie to me again, and have your goons whack a few more people!"  
  
"Let me go . . ."  
  
"Answer me, first! Why should I trust you?!"  
  
"Let me go! Now!" Dana snapped as she clawed at his grip. Somehow, he managed hold on.  
  
*Get away, John, get away!*  
  
Monica helplessly buried her head in her arms and squeezed her eyes shut just as the gunshot roared through the kitchen.  
  
Silence.  
  
Finally: "What was that for?!" Dana demanded.  
  
"Probable cause," a man, likely one of the three (though Monica dared not look up), answered. "We thought he was going to hurt you."  
  
"I said no bullets! I could've convinced him," she said with slightly injured pride.  
  
"Sorry, Dr. Scully. What's done's done."  
  
"What's done's done," she murmured to herself, as if trying to convince herself of something. She snapped back to business: "Look around; make sure we don't have any witnesses."  
  
Monica, though still unwilling to look up, was aware of another witness, but she knew they wouldn't find him. The other witness was too scared and clever for them.  
  
*Too much like his father might be, had that old tragedy not happened . . .*  
  
The phone rang.  
  
Monica jerked awake, and snatched the phone. She found herself too breathless to speak.  
  
"Agent Reyes?"  
  
It was Gibson Praise.  
  
"Hey, Gibson. Is everything all right?"  
  
"Well, for me, everything 's okay. I don't know about Agent Doggett. Either he's just running late, or something's happened."  
  
"He isn't there?"  
  
"No."  
  
"All right, I'll be there in," Reyes glanced at her digital clock, "twenty minutes."  
  
"Please come soon . . . I don't feel very safe." Gibson admitted.  
  
"Hang in there, Gibson. I'll be there soon."  
  
She gently put the phone back on the receiver, and slipped out of her bed. Despite her efforts to push her dream and the recent news out of her mind, Monica shivered.  
  
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Ooooh . . . Scary? Lame? Whatever your opinion, please let me know in your reviews! Thanx! :) 


	6. Don't Belong

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, everybody, sorry about the bit of violence in the last chapter, but it will have a certain importance in a few things to come . . . Anyway, here comes the next chapter!  
  
Happy Reading!  
  
Capt. Janeway  
  
**************************************************************************** ************************************  
  
CHAPTER 5 System #2  
  
John Doggett glad nobody was there to see his stupidity.  
  
He was certain he hadn't made a wrong turn, and he'd even followed the signs, but . . .  
  
He'd gotten lost just driving to the office!  
  
He let an angry sigh come hissing out as he parked the SUV in front of a moonlit diner. Maybe some coffee would help him think a little better.  
  
He got out, slammed the car door shut, and walked to the diner door. He pushed the door open and found himself a booth to plop down in.  
  
Except for a lone waitress and a couple gazing obsessively in each other's eyes, the place was empty, with a cry-over-yer-beer country ballad echoing from wall to wall.  
  
"Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked.  
  
"Just coffee. Thanks."  
  
As the waitress left, Doggett wearily put his head in his hands--not unlike his late counterpart only minutes before at the kitchen table.  
  
How? How could this happen? Ah, well, he'd better give Gibson a call so he wouldn't worry; Gibson would call Monica, and Monica would call Skinner and who knows how many other people.  
  
John drew his cell phone out of his pocket, only to find that it was dead. He didn't even get a no-service message; the phone was just dead.  
  
*Strange. I could've sworn I charged it the other night . . .*  
  
Just as he tucked his phone back in his pocket, a sharp wave of nausea swept over him. The room was spinning, growing darker and lighter; something was wrong . . .  
  
*I don't belong here, don't belong!*  
  
"Are you all right?" a woman's concerned voice drifted to him.  
  
*. . . I don't belong, don't belong, don't belong . . .*  
  
"Why don't you belong?"  
  
"I been sayin' all that?" John wondered aloud.  
  
"Yes--What's wrong?"  
  
Slowly, the spinning slowed, until it finally stopped. He found himself slumped to the side, being supported by the woman.  
  
"I'm okay," he mumbled.  
  
Looking up, he saw that the woman wasn't the waitress at all. She looked almost anorexic, with pale skin and enormous glasses shielding her face.  
  
"You sure?" she checked again.  
  
"Yeah. Thanks."  
  
The woman slid into the seat opposite him in the booth--as if she *belonged* there.  
  
"Do you have the files?" she asked in a low voice.  
  
"Files? What files?"  
  
"The files you promised me."  
  
"Files I promised you? Look, I never met you before. Honest."  
  
Horrified, she leaned back in her seat. "You're going to the hospital. Right now. I'll take you."  
  
"No, I'm fine," John snapped. "I just don't know who in the heck you are . . ."  
  
She grabbed his hand and gave it a soft squeeze. "You know who I am. Special Agent Samantha Mulder--remember?"  
  
"What in the--?!"  
  
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Please remember to review! :) Thanx! 


	7. Ashes and Coffee

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CHAPTER 6 System #2  
  
"Sam Mulder. You remember me now?"  
  
"Your name--are you Fox Mulder's sister?"  
  
Her eyes widened with obsession. "Yes, my brother, my missing brother. The files involve him."  
  
"He's missing?" John drew in a harsh breath. "It's all wrong. This is all wrong."  
  
"What's wrong? You know he's missing."  
  
"You're the one who's supposed to be missing!" he blurted. "He's the one in the FBI--"  
  
"Keep your voice down," she hissed. "There's always ears that shouldn't hear."  
  
"Never mind, never mind. I'm asleep," he said flatly to himself. "None of this is real. It's a dream."  
  
"I assure you, this is very real."  
  
"No," he shook his head. "It can't be."  
  
"How can you deny that this is real?" She squeezed his hand again. "Do I have to pinch you to prove it?"  
  
"But if this is real, then what I remember isn't real. Can't be real."  
  
Was it all a dream? Was this real? Was he losing his mind?  
  
"Well." Sam was bewildered. "You remember anything else? Your family, kids--"  
  
"Kids?" he looked up sharply.  
  
The waitress interrupted them with John's coffee.  
  
"Your kids," Sam continued after the waitress left. "You remember them?"  
  
"I remember only one. My son, Luke."  
  
She gave an amused smile. "Figures you'd remember him. He's the oldest, and lately he hasn't had any trouble taking your place bossing the other two around."  
  
His eyes widened. "I've got *three*?"  
  
"Two, really. Luke's yours; Will is Dana's, though he certainly considers you his dad; and Mattie belongs to both you and Dana."  
  
No, this wasn't right, after all.  
  
"This can't be real. I'm asleep. My wife--ex-wife's name--is Barbara, and Luke's dead. Gone! I searched for him, I saw his body, I scattered his ashes! I got nothing left!" he insisted.  
  
Sam froze. *He saw that,* she thought. *He's convinced of it. It couldn't be, though . . . unless . . .*  
  
"Come with me," she said abruptly. "I have an idea, but I need to check something, first."  
  
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Oooh, freaky? Lame? Whatever your opinion, please review! Thank you! :) 


	8. Storytime

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CHAPTER 7  
  
System #2  
  
"Goodnight, Mattie," Monica said softly to the skinny little seven-year-old girl curled on the couch.  
  
Mattie, however, was not satisfied. She was tired, but a small spark of the day still flared through those sleepy blue eyes.  
  
"Tell me a story, Auntie Monica," Mattie insisted. "I ain't tired yet."  
  
"What did you just say?" Monica asked, unable to hold back a smile.  
  
"Tell me a story. I ain't tired yet."  
  
Monica chuckled as she kneeled down beside the couch so she could be at the girl's eye level.  
  
"Your dad says 'ain't,' doesn't he?"  
  
Mattie nodded.  
  
"Well, try not to talk like your father. It's fine for him, but it's not good for a girl your age to talk like that. Say 'not--never 'ain't.'"  
  
"Okay . . . I'm *not* tired yet. Now, tell me a story. Please," Mattie remembered her manners at the last minute.  
  
"Sorry, but I don't think I'm a very good storyteller."  
  
"That's what Daddy said, but I thought he did all right. He can't tell one like Mommy, but he does all right."  
  
"Well, in that case, maybe I'll give it a try." Monica tried to think of what sort of a story Mattie might like as she sat on the edge of the couch. Mattie fell into an eager silence, wrapping herself a little tighter in her cocoon of blankets.  
  
"I know," Monica realized aloud. "I'll tell you a story that I heard of when I was your age, and I later read about it. I'll have to take out a few things, because there are some things that just aren't good for a little girl's mind to consider, but you'll still like it, I think."  
  
"What's the story?"  
  
"It's called 'The Thousand and One Nights.' A very, very old story--"  
  
"I need to talk to you."  
  
Monica turned to see Brad poking his head through the front door of their small house. His face was haggard with worry.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mattie. I'll be right back," Monica mumbled as she rose and walked to him. "What's going on? What kept you so late?" she whispered, hoping Mattie wouldn't hear.  
  
"Luke's missing. He never came home from school. Will and I went out and tried looking for him, but he's just . . . gone. I don't know . . . It could be nothing. Kids these days stay out until they drop dead from exhaustion."  
  
"This late? No, he's not like that," Monica said, unable to keep the dread out of her voice. "Luke's a good kid . . . and he knows John would have his head if he ever found out about something like that."  
  
There was a silence.  
  
"Well, we'll keep looking. If he's not back here by midnight, call the police."  
  
"Right."  
  
She watched him step back out into the night, and she gently shut the door. An uneasy feeling started gnawing at her stomach. She sank down to the floor, just as Mattie walked to her. Monica couldn't exactly tell who it was, though: the girl had thousands, if not millions, of faces, with so many different names rushing through Monica's mind . . .  
  
She blinked, and her vision cleared--she only saw Mattie there.  
  
"Is everything okay?" Mattie said, her voice trembling.  
  
"I . . . don't know, Mattie," Monica let her gaze drop to the floor. Nervously, she toyed with her wedding ring, turning it around her finger as she thought.  
  
The boy, Monica felt sure, was fine physically. He was alive, and they'd find him sooner or later. Emotionally, mentally: that she couldn't feel so certain about. A vital quality of Luke's nature had just been jerked away . . . In her mind, Monica watched it be cruelly ripped away from him, in a thousand different ways . . .  
  
*It's not fair to him!* a frustrated something inside her yelled. *It hurts him so much . . .*  
  
Just then, Monica heard a boy's shout from outside. She rushed to a window and flicked open the cheap miniblinds to see.  
  
It was Luke, with his ecstatic younger brother Will on one side of him, and Brad on the other.  
  
There was a haunted look about Luke that Monica would never forget--though he stood there seemingly unhurt, Luke looked much more dead than alive.  
  
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You know the drill with reviews, LOL . . . ;) 


	9. The Follmer House

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CHAPTER 8  
  
System #2  
  
Cold.  
  
Numb.  
  
Tired.  
  
Sixteen-year-old Luke Doggett stumbled in the darkness, not saying a word to Mr. Follmer or Will. Eyes lowered to the walk to the front door, he could not focus his thoughts on any one thing--just the vague, dreary feeling that clouded around him.  
  
*Why?!* something indignantly roared inside him. *Why did I have to see that?! . . . What in the world was that for?*  
  
"Where've you been?"  
  
That was Mr. Follmer.  
  
Without raising his eyes, Luke responded: "Out."  
  
"Out where?"  
  
"Out 'n about."  
  
"Luke," Mr. Follmer said firmly. He stepped in front, blocking Luke's path. "What happened?"  
  
Something--something Luke couldn't quite put his finger on--made Luke angry, and he glowered at Follmer. "Leave it alone," he warned. For a split second, their eyes met, before Luke turned away, repeating, "Leave it alone."  
  
He plodded around Follmer, and caught Mrs. Follmer, peering nervously at him through the miniblinds.  
  
*Let her! Long as she leaves me alone . . .*  
  
As he approached the door, Mrs. Follmer disappeared as she rushed to open it for him.  
  
"Luke," she said.  
  
*She knows!*  
  
Where'd that thought come from?  
  
*She knows! She understands!*  
  
Never mind that . . .  
  
"Mrs. Follmer."  
  
He brushed past her, and saw his little sister there, those bright blue eyes briefly diminishing his darkness. Her lower lip was trembling with anxiety . . .  
  
*Never could resist her.*  
  
He kneeled to her and broke into a sad smile. "Hiya, Mattie. What've you been up to?"  
  
"Where've you been?!" she wailed, wasting no time to leap up and throw her skinny arms around his neck.  
  
"Nowhere, Mattie. I keep telling myself I was nowhere," he mumbled.  
  
"Luke, can I talk to you for a moment?" Mrs. Follmer asked softly.  
  
*She knows . . . Talk to her, she knows.*  
  
There's that thought again.  
  
He let Mattie go.  
  
"Sure," he replied, and followed Mrs. Follmer into the kitchen.  
  
"Something--something's happening. Something's happened to you, to me, to everything," she let out in an emotional whisper. "Something's off, I can't explain it . . ."  
  
*Yeah, something's off. She's never talked to me like this before . . . She knows. There's something going on, and she knows . . .*  
  
"How do you know?" Luke asked her.  
  
"I feel it . . . I look at different things--different people--and they're different. Changed. I looked at Mattie only a couple minutes ago, and she was so many different people at different ages . . . Ah!" she cried. "I can't explain it. Well, I blinked, and she was Mattie again. And now, when I look at you, I see--AH!"  
  
She fell back, trembling violently.  
  
*Help her!*  
  
Luke rushed to her. "What is it? What do you see?"  
  
"I see . . . No, you won't want to talk to me if I tell you."  
  
"Tell me!" he hissed--his intensity surprised him.  
  
"Ah! You're John! You're him! His face, his age . . . the shot in the head!" she shrieked and pointed to Luke's forehead.  
  
A ghostly shiver ran up Luke's spine.  
  
"Tell me," he said urgently, "Mrs. Follmer, tell me . . . just how you know about that!"  
  
"I just see it! I can't help it! I see it! But, here comes Brad." She swallowed whatever else was welling-up inside her as Brad and Will came in.  
  
"What's going on, here?!" Brad came into the kitchen. "Monica . . . I heard your screaming . . ."  
  
"I'm fine," she said, desperately trying to keep her emotions out of her voice. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just a little . . . distraught. I'll be fine." She blinked several times, as though clearing her vision. "Uh . . . Anybody want some dinner? I'm afraid I've only got leftovers . . ."  
  
"Sure," Brad said cautiously. "I think we all could use a good meal, right now. That sound good to you, Will, Mattie? Luke?"  
  
"Sure," Will said softly, as he joined the group in the kitchen. Mattie slowly crept into the kitchen as well, and peered out from behind Will.  
  
Mrs. Follmer cleared her throat. "Luke?"  
  
"No thanks. I'm not very hungry."  
  
And with that, he turned away and went to the air mattress set up in the living room. Wearily, he sank down into the mattress with the blankets piled on top of him. He closed his eyes, wanting to sleep though he knew he wouldn't that night, when he had the distinct feeling of being watched. He opened one eye to see who it was.  
  
Mattie. She'd followed him, obviously.  
  
"Aren't you gonna get any dinner, Mattie?"  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Why'd Mrs. Follmer say you were John? Who's John? Did she mean Daddy?" she pummeled him with questions.  
  
"If you must know, then, yes, she did mean Dad." The topic disturbed Luke. "Go get some dinner. Goodnight."  
  
"What happened to Daddy?"  
  
Her question rattled him even more.  
  
"Go get some dinner, Mattie. Goodnight."  
  
She wouldn't let go. "What happened to Daddy?"  
  
"Matalyn Leigh!" he snapped, using her full name for emphasis. "Go get your dinner! Goodnight!"  
  
And with that, Luke turned over. Angrily, Mattie threw herself back to her place on the couch, indignant that her big brother, the object of all her worship, had given her such treatment.  
  
Had he not turned his back on her, Mattie might have noticed the hot tear running down Luke's cheek.  
  
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Please review, yadda, yadda, yadda, thank you. ;) 


	10. Which One of Us?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is a part in this chapter in which I introduce a concept I refer to as "three of him." (You'll understand it by the end of the chapter.) Please note that I had no intention of making references to the religious concept of the Trinity, and the whole thing is entirely coincidential. My idea is entirely separate, so, if you believe in the Trinity (as I do), please don't be offended.  
  
Again, a special thanx to the nice people who have reviewed so far . . . Please be sure to check back! Thank you!  
  
Happy Reading!  
  
Capt. Janeway :)  
  
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CHAPTER 9  
  
System #2  
  
Sam Mulder's car pulled up into the driveway of John's house.  
  
" . . . And once you passed that point, everything started to change?" Sam asked as she parked the car.  
  
"Yeah. It was strange. Freeway exits were changed, missing, and added-- that kind of thing," John replied.  
  
They got out of the car, and walked to the front door. John pulled out his keys, found the one to unlock the front door, and tried to put it in the lock.  
  
"What the--"  
  
He tried jamming the key in, but no luck.  
  
"Even the locks've changed on me . . ." he muttered.  
  
"Here, let me try," Sam offered. She took out her keys, found the right one, and put it into the lock.  
  
It was a perfect fit.  
  
*How in the world did she wind up with the key to my house?* John mused to himself as she pushed the door open to his dark house. He added this to the growing list of questions he planned to ask her later.  
  
An ominous chill cut right to his bones as he followed her inside.  
  
*The place feels like a tomb . . .*  
  
Sam disappeared around a corner--she probably went to the kitchen--while John poked around in the front room. The house itself seemed to be the same, though there were some changes in the interior. There was some furniture he remembered, some new furniture, and some that he knew he didn't have, but he could swear he'd seen somewhere before . . .  
  
Scanning the room again, John spotted some pictures proudly displayed on a wall. He walked over get a look at them. Most of them were of three children--a red-haired boy; a thin, frail little girl; and . . . Luke.  
  
Yes, here was Luke, in that same picture John kept in his wallet, only larger. A thrill of joy surged through him as he realized there were several other pictures--of an *older* Luke!  
  
*It's true! He's alive . . . Luke's alive! But how?*  
  
John tore his eyes away from Luke's pictures, and focused on one more. This one was from his wedding. A younger him, wearing a tuxedo and an enormous smile. But that wasn't what disturbed him.  
  
It was the bride that disturbed him.  
  
*Dana . . .*  
  
John sank to his knees as the nausea struck him again.  
  
*I don't belong, don't belong!*  
  
His own memories, and the memories of a whole different lifetime raced across his mind. There were three of him in his head--two were chattering with each other, eagerly comparing their experiences, and the third was the present him, watching the other two.  
  
*Be quiet! Get me away from here! Stop it! Stop . . . I don't belong . . .* the present him whined.  
  
Somewhere in the background, there was a bang, though it was muffled by the noise of his mind. The three of him gave a simultaneous *What was that?*  
  
"John!" a voice wildly demanded from outside his mind.  
  
*Which one of us?*  
  
"John, get up! We have to get out of here! Now!" It was Sam.  
  
There were several more muffled bangs.  
  
*Gunshots . . .*  
  
The three in John's mind merged together, to force him back to the real world. The gunshots, no longer muffled, roared in his ears. Nodding to Sam that he didn't need help, he stood up.  
  
John and Sam ran for their lives out the door to the car.  
  
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Well, if the three people in your head can agree on one opinion, please remember to review. ;)  
  
Thank you! 


	11. Tu Comprendes

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CHAPTER 10  
  
System #1  
  
By the time Agent Reyes arrived, Gibson Praise had been resisting the urge to nervously pace the X-files office for too long.  
  
She seemed awfully breathless--oh, a dream. She'd been having the dreams, too . . .  
  
"Gibson?" she asked cautiously.  
  
"Agent Reyes," Gibson acknowledged from his chair right under the I WANT TO BELIEVE poster.  
  
"He's still not here, is he?"  
  
"No. He hasn't called or anything."  
  
Gibson "heard" her think a colorful word he wouldn't repeat.  
  
*A wonderful time for John to go missing . . .* she bitterly added.  
  
"Well," she said aloud, "We'll give him a little more time, for good measure. Here," she pulled something out of a paper grocery bag, "I got us some dinner. You must be starved."  
  
She set a neatly wrapped sub sandwich on the desk before him, before taking her own out of the bag and eating it. Gibson carefully unwrapped his sandwich, wondering what it was . . .  
  
*I hope he likes turkey and avacado . . .* he heard her mind wander for a moment.  
  
"Don't worry. I do," Gibson mumbled just before he took his first bite.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
Gibson swallowed his food.  
  
"I said I do. I like turkey and avacado. It's my favorite."  
  
"Oh," she said, giving Gibson an odd look as he took another bite.  
  
She made a little shrug for herself. *With all I've seen lately, a psychic boy suddenly doesn't seem so strange,* she muttered inwardly.  
  
Behind his sandwich, Gibson hid a bitter smile.  
  
*Good,* he thought. *We understand each other. Now, maybe something can be done.*  
  
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Next chapter's coming soon . . . In the meantime, please remember to review! Thanx! :) 


	12. Mulders and Their Theories

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow! A special thanx to everybody for giving me such nice reviews . . . Oh, and a thanx to Jamie for the sympathy. It's very much appreciated. Anywho, this chapter should give you guys some limited insight into what in the heck is going on with this wacky plot, LOL . . .  
  
Happy Reading!  
  
Capt. Janeway ;)  
  
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CHAPTER 11  
  
System #2  
  
John didn't even want to think about how incredibly late at night--or, probably more accurately, how early in the morning--it was when he and Sam Mulder pulled-up to the motel.  
  
Somehow, they'd managed to escape the shooters at his house, and from that point on, Sam had fallen into a sort of pensive silence. They'd agreed on the out-of-the-way cheapie motel, but that was all.  
  
She followed him like a bad omen as he checked-in and got a room, and she followed him to the room, to ensure that everything was all right.  
  
She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the sorry room. "Are you sure you're okay with this place?"  
  
John looked around and shrugged. "I've had worse."  
  
There was a silence.  
  
"Look," John said finally, "I really appreciate what you're doing . . . I'd just like to know what's going on."  
  
"I'd be putting you in danger if I told you," she said flatly.  
  
"I think we're both in danger, right now, no matter what we know or don't know."  
  
Sam gave an exhausted sigh, before sitting on a small chair at a flimsy table in the room. "I don't *know* anything, John . . . but, I do have a theory."  
  
*Now, there's something familiar, coming out of a Mulder's mouth,* John thought. He sat on the bed nearby.  
  
"Go on," he said.  
  
"The John Doggett--the one I knew, my John--had been leaking information to me for several months. Originally, he gave me information to help me find my missing brother, though that was just the bait to draw me in. What he really wanted was for me to bring down a conspiracy of some sort that he believed had abducted my brother--he was only ten years old when they took him, you know . . . Anyway, he wanted me to be the whistle-blower. He claimed he couldn't do it himself, because he and his family were too close to the conspiracy for their safety. Hoping to find my brother, or, at least, some clues as to what happened to him, I agreed to help him, ."  
  
She glanced at him, as if to see whether John recognized any of this. He shook his head slightly, and she continued.  
  
"Naturally, this wasn't the only thing the conspiracy was up to. According to my John, one of the conspiracy's primary activities involved the study of phenomena called 'gaps,' and he suspected that there were experiments being performed on humans, too. He believed that these two things were very closely linked, and he was planning to get the files detailing their purposes.  
  
"Unfortunately, he failed, and was killed in the process." She noticed John's questioning look, and added, "I saw his dead body in your--his-- house when we were there earlier. That's why we were shot at."  
  
"We weren't meant to see it," he concluded aloud.  
  
She nodded. "But, here's the part where you come in. He said that the gaps were portals to other systems--other worlds, parallel universes, or whatever you want to call them. As far as I know, the government's manipulation of the gaps wasn't particularly nefarious, when the government had them under control. Now, however, the government has somehow lost control of them.  
  
"I know this all sounds far-fetched, but I think there's definitely something to it. In the past three years, the number of missing persons cases has skyrocketed all across the country, and there've been bizarre reports of people reappearing either insane or with completely different memories of their lives from what they had before they went missing. My John believed most of these people had accidentally wandered through the gaps out of or into our system."  
  
A pause.  
  
*Definitely a Mulder,* John thought.  
  
"So . . . That's what you think's happened to me? I accidentally went through a stray . . . gap?" he asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But what's so important about these gaps? For the government to be tinkering around with 'em, there's got to be something else."  
  
"That's what I've been trying to figure out. I think my John would have found out had . . . well, if he'd managed to . . . live," she said uneasily.  
  
*Had her John lived . . .* he mused. Hardly aware of what was going on, his mind momentarily allowed that other John, her John, to surface, flooding him with memories. It was just long enough to feel a shiver of *something* race through him . . .  
  
*Oh, no. Please, no.*  
  
Pushing that other John back down, he abruptly stood and took a step away from the bed, as though it were a bed of hot coals.  
  
But he did believe her; he felt every word was true. Just a few elements were missing, but what she did say was true.  
  
"At any rate, your life is in danger. If they saw you back at the house . . ." Sam started.  
  
". . . They'll try to kill me, too, to make sure everything's settled," John finished.  
  
She gave him an odd look for a moment. "Right . . . And there's something else we must consider: your--*his*--family. If I tell them everything, they could be in danger. If I omit you from the story, and just tell them about my John . . . Well, who knows how they'd handle it. The kids are pretty torn-up as it is from all of Dana's trouble."  
  
"I dunno . . . I don't even know them," he said softly to himself.  
  
There was another pause.  
  
"Well, why don't you sleep on it," she suggested. "I'll tell you about all of them tomorrow, and we'll decide then."  
  
"Sure," he replied. "See you tomorrow, then."  
  
Sam rose from her chair, and went to the door to leave. Just as she opened it, though, another tremor of that . . . *something* . . . got hold of John.  
  
"Sam."  
  
She looked over her shoulder at him.  
  
"I just wanted to say . . . thanks. For everything," he said sincerely.  
  
"Well, you're my friend. Or, you're the spitting image of him, anyway."  
  
And with that, she left John to ponder this strange new world.  
  
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Remember to review, por favor, no matter what you think of my little yarn. Thanx! ;) 


	13. Rainy New Day

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, sorry 'bout the delay, but I had a whole lot of schoolwork and Thanksgiving turkey keeping me away from my writing for a while . . . Special thanx once again to my beloved reviewers . . . I love you all! *sniffle!* GROUP HUG!  
  
LOL . . .  
  
Anyway, this chapter and the next one or two should explain how (our) Mulder and (our) Scully are involved in this mess of a plot. Hope you like!  
  
Capt. Janeway ;)  
  
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CHAPTER 12  
  
System #1  
  
Dana Scully slowly opened her eyes to find the rainy new day.  
  
She yawned, stretched, and, shivering, pulled her blankets a little tighter.  
  
Closing her eyes and smirking, she thought, *I can't remember the last time I got to sleep-in on a weekday.*  
  
She let out a lethargic sigh and listened to the rain tap across the roof of the motel room. She couldn't help but wonder what the weather was like back in D.C. Was everyone back there holding newspapers and magazines over their heads or wrestling with umbrellas, desperate to keep their immaculate business clothes dry? Or was it an Indian summer, with people swarming to the nearest air conditioner?  
  
It was a new day in a different life for her . . . Was it like that for anyone else back there?  
  
*Is it raining everywhere today?*  
  
There was a sudden BOOM of thunder, startling her so much that she leapt out of the bed. Laughing at herself, she sat back down on the edge of the bed. She wiggled her toes a little, and felt the rough carpet rub between them.  
  
A thought came to her: "Mulder!" she hissed aloud, as she realized he wasn't there.  
  
Not again . . . She didn't need to go through this all over again . . . Panicking, she got to her feet and paced the room, as though she might find him that way.  
  
She spotted something on the floor just in front of the door. A piece of paper. She rushed to it and snatched it up.  
  
It was a note, with his handwriting:  
  
"Gone to a diner across the street. Meeting someone with info. Could be a while. Will save some scrambled eggs for you. --Mulder."  
  
She let out another sigh--an exasperated one. "Meeting someone with info." could mean only one thing: Mulder had reassumed his crusade. She went to her suitcase and fished-out some better clothes.  
  
*Here we go again.*  
  
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Please remember to review, etc., etc. Thank you! :) 


	14. Tossing the Quarter

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CHAPTER 13  
  
System #1  
  
"I've swallowed some far-fetched stories before . . . but this?" Fox Mulder murmured into his cup of coffee. He took a gulp, then finished with a chuckle, "This is *way* out there."  
  
Across from him in the restaurant booth sat a balding man, who was a little on the chubby side, and was slightly taller than Mulder. Despite Mulder's little effort to lighten the mood, the man didn't let go of the grave expression that gripped his face.  
  
"Mr. Mulder," the man persisted, "I assure you, this is very real."  
  
*This has to be a joke,* Mulder commented to himself.  
  
"Really? Then why does this make no sense? The government conspiracy is dead, and I can't imagine what in the world it would want with parallel universes, or systems, or whatever you're calling them. Where's the logic in all this?"  
  
*"Where's the logic?"* Mulder smiled inwardly. *I'm turning into Scully . . .*  
  
"Let me finish my story, Mr. Mulder."  
  
"Please do."  
  
"There's a fundamental principle that seems to guide all the systems that we've encountered." The man reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a quarter.  
  
"Heads or tails?" the man offered.  
  
Mulder gave him a doubtful look.  
  
"Humor me, Mr. Mulder. There is a point to this."  
  
"Heads."  
  
The man flipped the quarter and caught it. Without looking, he slapped it on the tabletop, and drew his hand back to reveal the tiny image of George Washington stamped on the coin.  
  
"In this instance, you won," the man commented. "But somewhere, in a parallel system, under nearly identical circumstances, I won. In another, perhaps the coin fell on the floor and rolled away where we couldn't find it, and a child will pick it up later and put it in his piggy bank. There were almost limitless possibilities behind the toss of this quarter.  
  
"That is how the systems work. There are infinite systems, for infinite possiblities in various choices. Following that principle, there is at least one system in which the conspiracy is still active, and therefore its plans are continuing."  
  
"Supposing you're right, what interest does this parallel conspiracy have in manipulating these . . . gaps?"  
  
The man smiled knowingly. "Have you ever wondered how all evidence relating to the existence of extraterrestrials just seems to disappear into thin air? And if extraterrestrials did exist in our universe, shouldn't there be some very obvious evidence of their existence? The government surely can't hide *everything.*"  
  
"You're saying that there is no evidence of the existence of extraterrestrials . . . because they don't come from here?"  
  
"Exactly. They come from one of the other systems."  
  
At that moment, they heard the door of the diner swing open. Turning, Mulder spotted Scully making her way to the booth.  
  
"You're just in time for the fun," Mulder said dryly when she got there.  
  
Warily, she eyed the other man.  
  
"Dare I ask what kind of fun?" she muttered just before she slid in next to Mulder.  
  
"Should she be here?" the man asked.  
  
"Absolutely," Mulder firmly answered.  
  
"Well . . . I do have access to some evidence, if you'd like to see," the man dangled hopefully.  
  
*Something in the way he said that didn't sound right,* Mulder thought. But, curiosity got the better of Mulder:  
  
"I'll bite," he conceded. "What is it?"  
  
"A top-secret government facility where all the gaps are monitered." The man grimly smiled and added, "We nicknamed it 'The Hub.'"  
  
"Where?"  
  
"In another system. It wouldn't take more than an hour or two, if you have the time."  
  
"You still haven't told me how you found us out here. How do we know this isn't a trap you've set for us?" Mulder argued.  
  
"You don't."  
  
"We'll need some time to consider it," Mulder tried.  
  
The man lowered his head a trifle as a police car drove by the front of the diner at an ominously slow pace.  
  
"I don't think we should stay here for much longer," he said quietly. "If you want to go, meet me at the drycleaners across the parking lot in an hour."  
  
"Fine," Mulder replied.  
  
The three rose and, after paying for their cheap breakfast, left the diner. Mulder and Scully headed back to the motel, while the balding man skulked away in the opposite direction.  
  
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Ya like it? Ya love it? Ya want some more of it? (Or, maybe you don't . . .) Whatever you think, please review! Thank you! :) 


	15. Just Like Old Times

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CHAPTER 14  
  
System #1  
  
". . . I don't believe this, Mulder! I feel like . . . like . . ."  
  
Scully turned to the window of their room, as though looking to the outdoors for the right simile. Mulder was subtly smiling behind her back.  
  
"Like old times," he finished. "Like when we used to bicker over the minutiae of every case we used to work on."  
  
She tossed a glance at him over her shoulder, then looked back out the window.  
  
"Maybe," she murmured.  
  
"There's something he said, though, that's starting to hit home with me."  
  
She turned back to him.  
  
"How do you mean?"  
  
"He mentioned something about . . . about some people *seeing* things when they're near the gaps."  
  
"And you've been seeing things?"  
  
"Not things, so much as people." Mulder cleared his throat uneasily. "At the risk of sounding like Haley Joel Osment, I've been seeing dead people."  
  
Scully's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"They talk to me," Mulder continued, not caring that he probably sounded like an idiot. "Guide me. I saw Krycek at the military base . . . I saw the Lone Gunmen . . . And they were *real,*" he insisted. "They weren't shadows, or transparent ghosts, they were flesh and blood, talking to me!"  
  
"And seeing dead people is one of the signs?"  
  
"One of them."  
  
There was a long silence as she weighed the matter.  
  
Finally: "Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to just take a little look . . ."  
  
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Onward to the next chapter! :) 


	16. He Won't Die

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CHAPTER 15  
  
System #2  
  
The Syndicate had been discussing the results of the most recent negotiations when an urgent knock banged on the heavy double-doors of the conference room.  
  
"Who in the world could that be?" the Well-Manicured Man echoed all the others' thoughts. One of the men set to guard the door glanced nervously at the man sitting to the right of the Well-Manicured Man.  
  
That was C.G.B. Spender, looking like a human chimney as he puffed at his cigarette. Of course, the men guarding the door only dared to joke about that when they were absolutely certain he wasn't within earshot.  
  
"See who it is," Spender nodded.  
  
The man opened the door, and in burst a breathless Alex Krycek.  
  
"What kind of a game are you people playing with me?" he snarled.  
  
"For heaven's sake, sit down!" the Well-Manicured Man urged Krycek as he drew up a chair. Krycek threw himself down into the chair.  
  
The other members of the Syndicate eagerly craned their heads toward Krycek, as though by watching his face they might discern his message. Finally, Krycek managed to get a hold of himself enough to speak.  
  
"He's not dead, he won't die! The man won't die! Why didn't you tell me the man won't die?!"  
  
"Who?" demanded Struckart, sitting directly across from Krycek.  
  
"Doggett! We killed him . . . He's back . . . What's going on?! Tell me, now!"  
  
"Slow down," soothed the Well-Manicured Man. "I assure you, we're not trying to trick you. We've no idea what you're talking about."  
  
"We sent you to kill Doggett," C.G.B. Spender said flatly. "Did you succeed or fail?"  
  
"Neither, both, I don't know!" Krycek raged. "We shot to kill. We made his wife think it was an accident, and we'd just been trying to keep her safe. We had his body there, and then . . . then Sam stopped by . . . and he was there with her! Walking, talking, alive! We didn't understand, but we tried to kill them, anyway, and . . . Well, they both escaped," and with this, Krycek took a video out of an inside coatpocket and tossed the video on the table before them all, "but after that, we still had Doggett's dead body, right in the same place we'd left it! Same wound to the head, everything!"  
  
A silence.  
  
"So, you're saying there were *two*?" a man sitting at the left end of the table asked quietly.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
The man frowned. "That explains a few things."  
  
"Alex," the Well-Manicured Man explained, "there was another breach in the gaps this evening. That may be why you saw two Doggetts."  
  
"You mean . . . The Doggett that's alive crossed over from another system?" Krycek asked, horrified.  
  
The Well-Manicured Man nodded.  
  
"Now, Samantha Mulder has proof--living, breathing proof--to support her claims," Spender added. "If we cannot eliminate him, he will be the destruction of us all."  
  
Krycek nodded grimly. "I know what to do."  
  
Spender smirked as Krycek rose to leave.  
  
Just before Krycek got to the door, Spender called, "Oh, and Alex?"  
  
Krycek turned to Spender.  
  
"Do whatever you must. Leave nobody unchecked--associates, friends, family- -whatever it takes to end this."  
  
Krycek gave a sharp nod, then turned and left.  
  
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Uh-oh! What's in store for Sam and Doggett now? Log-on next time to find out, and in the meantime, (yep, you guessed it!) please remember to review. Thank you! :) 


	17. Pretending

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Special thanx, yet again, to my loyal reviewers for their support and patience . . . I hope you'll enjoy the remaining chapters! :)  
  
Happy Reading!  
  
Capt. Janeway ;)  
  
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CHAPTER 16  
  
System #2  
  
John looked around nervously as he stepped up to the doorstep of the house with Sam.  
  
The house wasn't exactly in the best part of town. The yards were all unkept, weeds growing everywhere, junk strewn in several driveways, and some seedy people drifting along the sidewalks every so often . . . Only a few houses (of which this was one) seemed to have owners that cared much about what little they had.  
  
But that wasn't what he was nervous about.  
  
When Sam had come to check up on him earlier that day, they discussed the pros and cons of telling his family the entirety of what had happened. Eventually, they decided the best thing to do was to have John meet them for himself, and then they'd decide.  
  
Of course, this would have to be very brief, to avoid the risk of his saying or doing something to alarm them.  
  
Just before John raised his hand to the door to knock, Sam leaned over and whispered, "Oh, and by the way, their names are Brad and Monica. They're good friends of the other John."  
  
"Brad and Monica? Follmer?" John asked, surprised.  
  
She gave him an odd look. "Yes, Follmer. How did you know?"  
  
"I had a hunch," John muttered in reply. He knocked on the door.  
  
*So things aren't quite so insane, so much as they're just twisted,* he mused.  
  
The door opened to reveal none other than Brad Follmer, who instantly recognized the guests with a friendly smile.  
  
"John! Sam! You're back--But, no use just leaving you two out there. Come on in!"  
  
Brad motioned them in, and Sam followed. Feeling that old mistrust of Brad flicker, John hesitated for just a moment, then took a step forward . . .  
  
Suddenly, something zipped past Brad, and hugged John's leg. Looking down, John saw that a young girl, probably about seven or eight, had now let go, and was eagerly looking up at him.  
  
He was in shock. *My daughter?*  
  
He crouched down to her level, staring at her in unconcealed amazement. She had immense blue eyes with dark brown hair curling down a just past her little shoulders. Unfortunately, she was beginning to notice his strange expression.  
  
"Why're you looking at me funny?" she asked, concerned.  
  
He made a little grin, and said in a soft, wondering voice, "Are you my daughter?"  
  
The girl laughed, "Of course I am!"  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah!"  
  
"Huh. Well, I can't quite remember. Maybe I'd remember if you told me your name." He was still grinning, but there was a just a hint of sadness in it, which the girl didn't notice, though Brad and Sam did.  
  
*Maybe,* he hoped, *I will remember . . .*  
  
She laughed again. "It's me! Mattie!"  
  
Mattie threw her thin arms around him for another hug. John hugged her back, doing his best to fill that immense void so recently created in her little life.  
  
But John didn't remember. And he wasn't sure how long he could pretend to be the father of those three children.  
  
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Thank you, please review, and move on to the next chapter! :) 


	18. Like Father, Like Son

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CHAPTER 17  
  
System #2  
  
"Hey, Mattie! Where'd you . . . Dad?"  
  
A freckled redheaded boy stood in the doorway next to Brad, now. There was something familiar about his face. Where had John seen that face before?  
  
*Dana Scully,* he instantly recognized. *That's gotta be Will Scully.*  
  
"Hey, Will," he nodded, let Mattie go, and stood.  
  
"You're back!" Will beamed, then ran away somewhere in the house just as quickly as he'd appeared.  
  
"I never knew I was such a celebrity," John remarked.  
  
"Well, come in, come in," Brad urged. "I'm sure Luke's dying to see you, too."  
  
When Brad and Sam turned their backs to go in, John shuddered at Brad's choice of words before following them in.  
  
"Luke!" he could hear Will calling. "Luke, Dad's back!"  
  
"What?!" another voice barked. "That's impossible!"  
  
John entered the room in time to see the speaker.  
  
*Luke?! That's him? He's grown even more than the pictures showed . . .*  
  
However, instead of the warm reception he'd gotten from Mattie and Will, Luke froze the instant he saw John.  
  
"Hey, Luke," John managed through his emotion. "Good to see you."  
  
"No, no," Luke murmured after a moment. "This isn't real."  
  
Suddenly, John felt very weak. The room was spinning again . . . He waved his arm around, feeling for something to hold on to. He felt someone-- probably Sam--grab his arm.  
  
"You don't belong here," Luke chanted, almost as though he were in a trance. "You don't belong . . ."  
  
But Luke didn't have time to finish, for no sooner had the words left his mouth, John had collapsed on the floor.  
  
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Well, quite a family reunion, huh? LOL . . . Anyway, please review, etc. Thank you! :) 


	19. Horrible, Bad Dreams

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry 'bout the delay . . . I got frustrated with all this, and thought it was horrible, but then I got several more encouraging reviews that forced me to pay attention to this lovely little fic again. Huh. Well, anyway, here are the remaining chapters.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Capt. Janeway ;)  
  
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CHAPTER 18  
  
System #1  
  
Monica Reyes grudgingly opened her eyes and winced as she tried to pry herself out of the office chair she'd fallen asleep in. Every part of her ached from falling asleep in such an uncomfortable position--except her head, which ached from her muddled dreams.  
  
Gibson was still asleep, though he's been much more clever than she--he'd pulled a couple chairs together, backs apart, to make a little "bed." He didn't seem particularly peaceful, though. There was a hard scowl on his face, and he'd anxiously twitch his leg every so often, as though he were trying to run in his sleep.  
  
It was only after she noticed the noise of the other offices near hers that she realized just how late she'd slept in.  
  
And then it hit her: *John isn't back!*  
  
Ignoring her stiffness, she rose from her chair and began pacing the room.  
  
*What should I do? Call Skinner? What could he do to help? Well, it's worth a try, anyway.*  
  
She was about to pick up the phone when Gibson gave a loud yelp and sat straight up, his eyes wide open.  
  
"Good morning, Gibson," she murmured. "Did you sleep well?"  
  
"No. Did you?" he taunted, since he already knew the answer.  
  
"No," she sighed. "I keep having those dreams about . . . About the copper music box," she recalled. "And the sort of collage of places and people. What about you?"  
  
"A horrible, bad dreams. No offense, but mine are much more vivid than yours. But this time . . ." Gibson stopped, catching himself.  
  
Reyes didn't let it slip by, though. "This time what?"  
  
"You were in it," he said hesitantly.  
  
"What was I doing?"  
  
"You were married to Brad, and there were four kids around you, though only one was yours."  
  
*Why would that be horrible and bad to him?* she wondered, no longer surprised that he knew of people he'd never met.  
  
On cue, Gibson explained: "You were trying to hide your kid from Brad, and there were other people invading the universe--Agent Doggett, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, and others . . . They didn't belong." He was at a loss for words. "It was bad," he concluded.  
  
"John was there?" she asked uneasily.  
  
"Yes."  
  
She picked up the phone, and dialed Skinner's extension.  
  
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End file.
